Afraid
by Cheaward
Summary: 'They play in the Meadow...it took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree.'  What was going on in Katniss's head, why she refused to have children for so long.
1. Chapter 1

**When I read the end of Mockingjay (I loved it, btw), I tried to figure out why Katniss made Peeta wait so long to have a child ('five, ten, fifteen years..'). This is what I think was running through her head during all time. **

**Disclaimer: I most defintely not Suzanne Collins. So sadly, The Hunger Games Trilogy does not belong to me:( **

* * *

"Peeta!" I shout, slamming the stirring spoon on the counter. "Can we please just not do this tonight?"

"Katniss, what is there to 'do'? We're just talking about having a baby."

I close my eyes and slowly count to ten, just as Dr. Aurelius used to make me. But Peeta _knows_ why that's the one thing I can't do for him. He's witnessed the same horrors I have, gone

through even worse. Yet for some unfathomable reason, he _still_ wants to bring a child into this broken world.

He maneuvers around the island to stand next to me, taking my hand. Guessing my thoughts, he says quietly, "It's been ten years."

I remove my hands from his and shake my head. "Watch the pot, I'm going for a walk," I mutter, and steal outside before he can respond.

_

* * *

_

_Ten years_ is the only thought going through my mind as I make my way to the forest. I scale a tree, and lean back against its sturdy branches.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen-Mellark. I am twenty-eight years old. The Hunger Games and Old Panem no longer exists, but neither do the majority of my old allies, friends, my father, or Prim. _

_Prim. My little sister would have been twenty four years old. A woman, and most definitely a doctor by now. Married, perhaps with the children she always wanted so badly…_

I shake my head in attempt to clear my mind of those thoughts. Of course, the dead never truly leave me, or any of the other Survivors, but now the memories of them don't usually bring

as much sadness and pain as they once did. But tonight it hurts especially. Because they _are_ dead. All of them, gone, taken way before their time. Peeta's right, we've come an extremely

long way in ten years: the Republic system of government Boggs dreamed about working beautifully, even though Paylor is still president- but why mess with a good thing?, each district

flourishing and supporting each other, starvation an inconceivable notion. So why can't I just accept our lives the way they are now, be truly content and make what appears to be the

next natural step in my relationship with Peeta?

Because I'm afraid.

* * *

We've been married for nearly six years now, and Peeta wanted kids right away. At first, I was able to deflect him easily enough with excuses, not wanting to hurt him: 'We're still so

young.' In the old Twelve, most kids got married right out of high school. We were both twenty-two. 'We need time to adjust to each other, our new relationship.' You don't really need

much adjusting after spending two Hunger Games and a Revolution with someone. 'The government isn't stable yet, anything could go wrong…' Paylor's excellent at her job. Things were

stable enough after a few months. Peeta swallowed these well enough for the first couple of years, but after that, he put his foot down and demanded to know what my real problem

was. And I told him- how I'd never wanted kids, especially after my father died. How I still had far too many people in this world I cared about, who I may not be able to protect if anything

happened again. I loved Prim more than anyone else in the universe. My love for any future offspring would probably outshine even _that_. How would I cope if I were to lose them too?

Of course, everyone in my life had tried to help, offered advice. Peeta, my mother, Greasy Sae, Dr. Aurelius…hell, even Haymitch and my prep team. If I hear the words 'you cannot let fear

rule your life' one more time, I'm going to be sick. And it's not just fear. I'm not _ready_ to be a mother. Peeta would make an amazing father, but I'm not sure of the kind of job I'd do.

* * *

An hour of thinking and a couple of rabbits later, I return home. Peeta's lying on the couch in the living room, sketching in his book of drawings. I rest my kills in the kitchen, wash my

hands, and go to him; immediately falling into his embrace.

"I'm sorry for just leaving like that," I say against his chest.

He reaches over for his book and shows me what he worked on while I was gone. It's a drawing of me and him in the Meadow, and not so much a drawing as a memory etched out. Last

week we'd taken an impromptu trip there, and had ended up chasing each other around like five year olds. His picture is of the moment when he'd finally caught me, and swept me up into

his arms. He's captured it so perfectly; you can practically hear my laughter coming off the page.

He murmurs into my neck, "I'm the one who should be sorry. I'd love for us to have a child, but I only _need_ you in order to be complete."

"I only need you too. And I'd love to show you how many ways I do." My last comment has the effect I'd hoped it'd have. Peeta groans and carries me into our bedroom.

And the next month, I take another pill.

_**

* * *

**_

_**So how was it? Next chapter will be what, or who, finally made her change her mind. And reviews only take like 10seconds. You have no idea how happy 10 seconds of your time would make me:).**_

_**-Chea**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry this is a little late people, but I've got school and exams are coming up in a little under a month. *Yayyy* (-I hope you read that with sarcasm). I'll hopefully be able to update a few more times before that.**

**I hate doing this, but my friend says I should make it obvious that sometime has elapsed between this chapter and the last. There's a clue early on- last chap Katniss says she's 28, and in this I mention Peeta's 30th birthday in the past tense. But you'll figure it out towards the end. **

**This one's a little long, but I promise there's a point! It IS a story about how Katniss decides to have kids after all.**

**Disclaimer: Things I own: Two kittens, three dogs, and a very lovely brownie currently heating in my microwave. Things I Don't Own (sadly): The Hunger Games Trilogy **

Chapter Two

The phone rings from somewhere in the house, but I'm knee high in clothes in the washroom and do _not_ feel like plowing through them in order to answer it. I'm about to yell for Peeta to pick it up, when he calls "I've got it!", and the ringing stops. And the Best Husband of the Year Award goes to: Peeta Mellark.

I walk into the kitchen, the basket with Haymitch's laundry on my hip and an empty detergent container in my free hand, resting both on the counter. "We'll need to pick up another bottle of-", I start to say to Peeta, but the stricken look on his face cuts me off automatically. And not the stricken, 'I'm-having-another-flashback' look I've seen before (though thankfully not in a few years), but one of pure sadness. I quickly go over to him, pulling out the chair next to his. "What's wrong?"

He waits a few beats before saying, "That was Ada who called. Mr. Meade just died."

A hand flies to my mouth, which has fallen open in shock. Mr. Meade was the main art teacher at the school, back when we attended. I never bothered with the subject, having no talent in that department whatsoever, but he taught Peeta during our last five years there. It was him who got Peeta interested in painting, showed him how to capture life and images from his imagination on a blank piece of paper. Like Ada, Peeta's childhood friend, he was from the town and had been among the evacuees in District Thirteen. They both, and what was left of their families, were a part of the groups that returned to Twelve to start again after the Revolution.

I find my voice. "What happened? He couldn't have been more than sixty."

"Heart attack," Peeta replies. "Happened earlier this morning."

"I'm so sorry. Do you want me to call the family?" He nods, and gets to his feet, heading in the direction of the stairs. I have no idea how he'll take this. We would generally see Mr. Meade about once or twice every couple of months during the past few years; in the market or at some local function. Sometimes Peeta would stop by his home with some of his work, and the two of them would chat about techniques or whatever.

He was a kind man though, with a heart 'even bigger than his stomach', as Haymitch so eloquently would put it. Though he had a point. Mr. Meade had a belly that would a pregnant woman's to shame. Too old to work for in the school any more, he'd still offer private tutoring to the kids, and a space in one of Mr. Meade's classes was always coveted. He still painted as well, and would charge little to nothing for his pieces- the beautiful portrait of Peeta and me on our wedding day, which hangs in the front room, was his wedding gift to us. Another one of his works is in here in the kitchen, he brought it over at the party we had for Peeta's thirtieth birthday. Peeta would've been looking directly at it when Ada called with the news.

I search in the phone's memory for Dally Meade, and dial the number. In District Twelve, as word gets out that someone's died, the custom is for family members and extremely close friends to gather at the person's home immediately, to comfort one another and hold a wake for at least twelve hours as soon as possible. Others would call to offer condolences, and find out when the funeral was to take place.

In the Old days, Peacekeepers were called to retrieve the body and carry it to the Justice Building, but now a family who moved here from District Seven a few years deals with that. With ten sons, one of them arrives, takes the body to the Justice Building and will do an autopsy, if needed. Usually the next step is cremation, but some families, especially the wealthier, will opt for the body to be prepared for a burial. A memorial is held in one of the rooms in the Justice Building within the next few days, and the urn or casket buried in the person's backyard or in a graveyard.

After speaking with Mr. Meade's widow, I go upstairs to check on Peeta. He's fallen asleep in our bed, a few tears dried on his face. I kiss his forehead and leave the room, heading downstairs and outside to sit on the porch. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to truly remember Mr. Meade, and am a bit surprised when some tears of my own come as well. It's a bit too easy to associate death purely with the Hunger Games and the Old Panem, so it comes as a kind of shock when one remembers that as great as this new age in the country is, death is still a natural part of life.

The first funeral held in District Twelve after the Revolution was for the mother of Peacekeeper-turned-Avox Darius. She'd decided to spend the rest of her life in the last place her son was truly happy, and though she was a quiet woman who kept mainly to herself, I swear every person in District Twelve showed up to her funeral. It was painful for us all. But we cried, and although the next one was sad, it was in the expected ways.

* * *

The morning of Meade's funeral four days later, Peeta and I dress quickly and then grab Haymitch. Him and Meade went to school around the same time, and had revived their friendship during these past few years. We make our way to the Justice Building, check the directory at the doorway there, and go to Reception Room Four. The funeral's got about twenty minutes until it begins, and I'm grateful that Ada's saved a few seats for us- the place is packed already. Mr. Meade's urn is on a table at the front of the room, a beautiful, intricate thing surrounded by flowers. Behind it are a podium and a few rows of chairs for the family to sit. Some of his artwork hangs around the room, a few pieces I recognize from his home, others that must've been in his children's.

The family walk up the aisle now, all dressed in white. This is to distinguish them from the rest of us, who are wearing dark colors. Mrs. Meade goes first, her face covered by a veil, but head still held high and her walk strong. Next come her children- two sons and two daughters- with their spouses, followed by the seven grandchildren. They all sit behind the podium, and we rise from our seats.

The ceremony commences. Our funerals are not long- friends go up to speak about different aspects of the deceased's life; we sing the traditional funeral songs, and then some members of the family read tributes to their loved one. There is one final song, and then everyone leaves, touching the urn or casket before they go in a final act of goodbye. Most leave after that, but a few close friends are invited back to the home or graveyard for the burial.

Two people orate on Mr. Meade's childhood and young adult life, and by the time as Peeta's finished speaking on his teaching career, the entire room is in tears. I cry again for Mr. Meade, then Prim, my father, Finnick, and everyone else lost. The two songs that are sung do not help calm anyone down. But surprisingly, when his four children go to the podium, each one of them has dry eyes. Aven, Cynara, Linnea, and Hebe are the most poised and strongest I've ever seen them.

As custom, they speak in birth order, with Aven starting off. The four of them pick up where the other has left off, and you can tell the amount of love they have for their father in their voices alone. The waterworks start up again for the audience.

"…but after all this," Hebe is saying, "The one thing we would like for you to understand is that Dally Meade is. Not. Dead."

There's some stirring among the crowd, and Haymitch and I shoot a worried glance at each other. Has grief driven him mad?

Linnea takes the microphone back from her twin. "You see, the word dead is defined as 'a state of no longer living'. Dally Meade may not be living physically, but-" She cuts herself off and hands the mic to Cynara.

"As an old quote we find very comforting says, 'to live in the hearts we left behind, is not to die'. He lives on in the hearts of his family, and all of you people here today, who loved him."

Aven reaches for the microphone now. "My entire life, people have told me that I'm the spitting image of my father. That Cynara has his face, Hebe carries his shadow, and that Linnea has his talent. The best parts of my father live on in us. And they will continue to live on, as you see-" He turns around and nods to the Family Row. All seven grandchildren stand up, the six month old held by the oldest, who looks to be around fourteen. "In his descendants."

The entire family stands now, and they all say, "We are his legacy."

They return to their seats, and the entire room bursts into applause.

* * *

Later that evening, Peeta and I are lying in our bed, just doing…nothing. I hold our intertwined hands up and say, "I'm still thinking about the last speech at the funeral, the one given by Aven those? Wasn't it great?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah, they did Dally justice."

"It made me realize that children really are a gift, something really beauty in this world. You don't have them because life is perfect, you have them because they make life _better_ and give you true hope for the future."

Peeta rolls over to his side and props his head up on his elbow. "So what are you saying?"

I take a deep breath. "I'm saying that I want to see a little girl with your eyes and my hair. Or a little boy with my father's voice and your artistic skills. To pass your goodness onto the next generation. And to make our family whole."

Peeta's just staring at me, mouth open in shock. I reach over and kiss it, not letting go of his hand. "Yes, you can believe it. I'm saying that I want for us to have a baby."

He pulls my face back to him and devours my mouth with his. "I've waited for fourteen years for you to say those words…are you sure?"

I nod. "Very."

"I love you so much Mrs. Mellark." This is his favorite term for me, even though I've hyphenated our last names professionally.

"Not as much as I love you. And our baby will too."

He chuckles. "You say baby as if there's already one inside you."

"There's not but…I was hoping you could help me fix that problem."

"I think I know how," he says, returning his mouth to mine.

* * *

**So how was it?**

**This chapter was a bit tricky for me, because I really had to figure what would finally make _Katniss Everdeen_ change her mind about such a matter. I hope I did her justice:)**

**HUGE thanks to: Verity Duffield, ladaane, ihateturkeys, mellark, and bashton78- my beautiful reviewers. To everyone out there who's put me on Story Alert, or Favorites, I'm so grateful. But you have NO idea how happy seeing your reviews would make me. It only takes 10seconds for you to say 'loved it!'. I need to know what you guys think, as it truly helps me as a writer. And remember- you can only put me on Story Alert once (typically after the 1st chapter), which I guess obviously means you liked it. But how will I know what you thought about subsequent chapters? _Oh, and the more reviews I get, the faster I'll update;)_**

**-Chea **


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